Psycho Loving [Teen Wolf/Sterek]

Part 7

Scott was all business, questioning about the break, examining the wound and going full vet. It was kind of fun to watch him play doctor, going off all he had learned from years of his part time job with Dr. Deaton at the vets. His fingers ghosted across the split in Derek's wound, poking and prodding for a moment before sighing.

"This is gonna take awhile to heal Derek. I need to get this off of you- it'll probably hurt."

Stiles watched Derek grit his teeth, digging his fingers into the dirt in preparation. The man had pointedly lifted himself from laying on his lap the moment Scott arrived, so he was back to supporting his own weight.

"Just do it."

Stiles shuffled away, drawing Derek's leather jacket tighter around his shoulders. He wasn't good with blood, so avoided looking too closely as Scott gripped either side of the traps jaws in his clawed hands. Instead, his eyes roamed. The bare branches above were shuddering in a slow dance with the breeze, swaying across the stars. The stars were so clear from Beacon Hills; Stiles knew this, yet they looked especially bright on this particular night. They swirled around in his vision, spinning like the lights of a carousel, around and around and around...

"Stiles! Can you move Dereks' leg?" Scott grunted, voice strained. Stiles let his eyes meander down the lines of a tree before circling over to where the two werewolves sat. Scott had pried the trap open, and his eyes were an illuminated bright red. But Derek's leg was still laying across it, and Stiles realized with a start that he couldn't even move it. He stepped forward slightly with the intent to move over and help, but the sound of someone 'hushing' stopped him. The wolves suddenly looked frozen, faces both turned to where Stiles stood; Dereks in a grimace, Scotts in an concentrated plea for assistance.

Stiles turned slowly, toward the continuous 'shh's' that were filling the air. He was expecting what he saw, but the image still caused his heart to drop. It was like a mirror had been strung between the trees, set up like a joke to scare him. A copy of himself stared back at Stiles, identical in every way save his actions. It was approaching him slowly, in a way that Stiles would have never walked; almost a stalk, somehow predatory. Stiles found himself unable to move away, transfixed. He opened his mouth, trying to vocalize the overwhelming dread working it's way through his system, but he couldn't force out more than a whimper.

The mirror image paused when they were toe to toe, tilting it's head in a decidedly Stiles-ish way. From an outer view, it would have been impossible to tell the two apart, would it not have been for a faded brown bomber jacket the fake wore over his copied clothes. Otherwise, they were completely identical.

Stiles' expression was slowly darkening into completed devestation- was he completely insane now? Crazy enough to pause his life, pause his friends that were in need, and hallucinate?

"Shh,"

The copy raised his arm, pressing a thin, pale finger to Stiles' lips. He swallowed, feeling the other him tap rhythmically against his bottom lip, tutting all the while.

"No need to be so loud Stiles. Quiet down."

I didn't say anything. Stiles thought immediately.His head was clouded with panic, but he was unable to step away unable to move at all. The other him laughed, trailing the tip of his finger up the side of Stiles' cheek before tapping his temple.  

"Up here. Shh."

Any thought he had had suddenly escaped him. It was impossible to keep a grasp on anything more than the replica of his eyes, blinking back at him. They were practically a shimmering gold-brown in the barely illuminated night, and blinked oh so innocently at the one who they really belonged too.